Nothing
by yeaka
Summary: Draco Malfoy loses a match; Marcus Flint isn't happy. (Slash, non-con.)


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Warnings: Slash, non-con, dark, abuse, humiliation, mild breath play.

A/N: This is a redrabbled version of the extremely old story, 'Love and Hate and Nothingness.' Proceed with caution.

* * *

At a single look from Marcus, the rest of the team slinks away. Montague makes a move towards Marcus like he wants to stay, but Marcus shoots him a look that could send a werewolf running for the hills. A disgruntled Montague stomps off with the rest of them, until Marcus is alone in the change room.

Except for Draco Malfoy, who isn't stupid enough to go anywhere. He's pretending not to notice Marcus, facing his open locker and stripping off his green cloak. His pretty face is set so hard in a scowl that it's nearly convincing... or would be, if his fingers weren't trembling.

And he misses the hook when he tries to hang up his cloak. Marcus walks closer – Draco visibly cringes at the sound of footsteps. Marcus growls, "Need some help, there?" And Draco isn't stupid enough to try and answer.

Marcus unceremoniously grabs the hem of his Quidditch shirt, yanking it right up his body and over his head – Draco stumbles, trapped in the fabric. Marcus rips it all off, and then he shoves down Draco's pants and boxers all at once – Draco gasps and arches in the cold air. When Marcus pushes him towards the showers, he smartly walks over on his own. He probably knows that if he doesn't, Marcus will drag him.

Draco's socks are still on, but that's it. When he hits the showers he turns around, and Marcus shoves his pale, thin frame towards the faucet – Draco winces when his back hits the wall. Marcus is still wearing all his gear – his wand's in his pocket, and he doesn't care if he gets wet. He towers over Draco, one hand to either of the cowering blond.

Draco shrinks back into the wall, looking tinier and more breakable than ever. Marcus sneers, "You failed me."

Draco bites his lip before trying to stutter out, "I... I'm sorry. It's not my fault, it's just that Potter-"

Marcus backhands him so hard that Draco instantly topples over – Marcus grabs his shoulder before he can collapse and shoves him back into place. "I don't want your excuses," Marcus barks, because everything with Draco is always _someone_ _else's_ fault, and Terence never gave Marcus that bullshit. "You bought your way onto this team, you cunt – don't think for a minute you'd be here otherwise. It's obvious you're shit on a broom, and now you've got the nerve to try and act like you don't deserve to have your brains knocked out of your skull?" Marcus is spitting with fury – Draco's eyes are wet.

He's clutching his cheek, and it's already bruised. Draco always marks so easily, but that's what cover-up spells are for. Draco's mastered them. Marcus has forced him to. Marcus doesn't accept failure, not on his team, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the way Draco trembles beneath him, delicate and beautiful.

But Draco looks best in pieces, and Marcus looks forward to these moments too much – these excuses to break him in two. Marcus presses into Draco hard, shoving a knee between his bare thighs, and Draco gasps like a whore. The handle's jutting out next to his hip; Marcus reaches out to twist it. The water bursts all above Draco's head, washing all his blond hair straight down and making him splutter and cough. Marcus turns it scalding hot – he likes the way it turns Draco's skin pink and the way it makes Draco scrunch his face up, like he's ashamed. The power rushes through Marcus' veins like a potion, and he leans into Draco's wet ear to hiss, "You're a piece of shit, Malfoy. There's a reason you're always second to Potter, and there's a reason you can't stand up to me. It's because you're a pathetic little worm, and you know it." Marcus ignores the water and bites Draco's ear; Draco whines and tries to turn his head away.

Marcus reaches up to grab his neck, holding him firmly in place. Draco gasps and struggles for air; Marcus doesn't let up. Marcus slides their bodies together, the water streaming between them, sticking Marcus' shirt to his skin. He can feel Draco's nipples hardening under the warmth and the contact, and he runs his free hand down Draco's side. His uneven nails leave jagged trails, and he reaches around to squeeze Draco's ass. Draco arches and groans – Marcus kneads the supple globes. When he slips his finger between the two luscious cheeks, Draco moans, and Marcus adds, "_Slut_," to the mix.

Draco doesn't even shake his head. He knows the drill – he's lost before. He can be a pompous little bitch all he likes with his peers, but when he's lost a match then he _owes _Marcus. And Marcus collects in human flesh. Marcus fists a hand in Draco's hair and forces him to his knees – Draco goes easily.

The water streams down his pretty face while he opens the front of Marcus' pants – Marcus doesn't let go of his hair. He looks fucking gorgeous on his knees – like he was meant to be there. He looks up at Marcus with big, pleading grey eyes; Marcus smirks.

Before he leans in, Draco drawls almost too quietly to hear, "_I'm sorry._"


End file.
